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DISCLAIMER: Lunar Legend Tsukihime, Fate/Stay Night, and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of Kinoko Nasu and Type-Moon, along with anyone who's happened to license them, like Geneon or Funimation. Harry Potter and all related characters and concepts are the creation and property of J.K. Rowling, along with her publishers and Warner Bros., as regards the movie material.

This is a not-for-profit, just-for-fun project.

Writer's Note: Certain dialogue sequences in this story are lifted from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, but I trust in the intelligence of my readers (and the availability of the books) to recognise them when they see them.

It was the reluctant, infuriating, but inescapable conclusion he reached after several weeks of pondering. Looking back over the last year, only a fool (which he most certainly was not) would deny that Lord Voldemort had made several mistakes in his planning. Some of it, certainly, was not his doing - that fell upon the shoulders of incompetent subordinates, or elements of which he was simply unaware at the time, and thus could not account for. But there were certain aspects of events that had occurred over the last year which, upon reflection, he truly ought to have been prepared for, or at least taken into consideration.

The first, and most obvious, was the fact that the world had, in fact, changed since his defeat in 1981. In his eagerness to resume his campaign where he had left off, and his with his own eternal nature, he had neglected to consider the effect that the passage of thirteen years would have. Granted, wizarding society as a whole was slow to change, if it managed to at all, but as the years rolled by without his influence upon them, alterations were inevitable. Voldemort had only to consider those first, heady years following Grindelwald’s defeat when he was barely out of school to realise that. Had not many of the first generation of his Death Eaters been recruited from the sons and daughters of Grindelwald’s followers? Those that chafed under the stigma of having chosen the losing side, even as they never lost faith with what their parents believed in?

It had been fertile ground, indeed - those who found themselves suddenly wealthy, or penniless and without prospects, following the imprisonment or execution of their families. They had burned to revenge themselves on the world, to prove that they had been in the right, and the self-righteous fools who opposed them were mistaken. They had come to him, eager to serve, and they had served him well, for the most part. Why, then, would things be different this time? Lord Voldemort had been even more powerful and feared than Grindelwald - of course history would repeat itself. And that meant that wizarding Britain would further “commit itself to the cause, that such a horror should never again come to pass,” if he remembered one post-Grindelwald speech correctly. Closer international ties, and closer scrutiny of his Death Eaters would be par for the course.

. . . And, apparently, the adoption and adaptation of Muggle weapons and tactics by at least some wizards. On the surface of it, it was incomprehensible to Voldemort - sullying the proud name and heritage of “wizard” by stooping to using the tools that Muggles did, the paltry substitutes for the glory that was their birthright - the power that was magic. And yet, at least one wizard did so, and try though he might, Voldemort could not deny the thorough, brutal effectiveness of the choice - it had certainly cost him enough. Even aside from the loss of his forces when pitted against such, the sheer humiliation of it . . . Though long since healed, his leg still twinged, on occasion - a painful reminder of that day, that wizard. Only Dumbledore had so humiliated him before then, and he would one day wrest a terrible price from that man for his arrogance - one day soon.

And indeed, that man was the source of many of his current difficulties, for his family had meddled in his affairs greatly. Like many wizards, Voldemort was generally dismissive of the other magical races, as none could compare to wizards in their power and intelligence. Even without that distinction, only the generally “Dark” races truly held his interest, as they were the only ones of any use, or with any sense, if they proved intelligent. And yet, he had discovered to his cost that Dementors - one of the most feared races to walk the earth, and one of the most useful of his terror weapons - could be harmed, and even outright destroyed, by Veela. Veela! Temptresses and seductresses, empty-headed playthings without any real use beyond the physical - and yet, Veela had proven one of the primary sources of his problems . . .

Voldemort shuddered with the effort of suppressing his rage as he recalled the night in the graveyard, recalled that Veela bitch tempting him! He was Lord Voldemort, a being as far above common wizards as wizards stood above Muggles! He was beyond such enticements, such primitive drives - such weaknesses as other mere men were subject to! And yet, she had reached him! She had caused him to hesitate, to falter! It was unforgivable, unthinkable! But it had happened, nonetheless . . . And the mere thought drove him to a frenzy worthy of the full moon. And that did not even count the other Veela, the wife of that man, who had created an organisation which had decimated the ranks of the werewolves he relied upon as yet another weapon. Or their son, who was another order of problem entirely.

Severus, incompetent though he had ultimately proven to be, had been entirely correct in one instance. Severus had warned him that the Longbottom boy was protected, and that these protectors were of an unusually competent and fearsome nature. At first intrigued and sceptical, he had later dismissed these claims as an effort on Severus’ part to excuse his own failures . . . But now, to his cost, he knew that the dead man had been correct. Indeed, he may even have understated the case. For when his trap for young Longbottom had been sprung, it had been the children who found him. Not the Ministry, not even Dumbledore, but the children - and they had proceeded to engage and equal four of his finest Death Eaters in combat - himself! And while Severus may have been correct in naming the werewolf their leader, their strongest weapon was clearly the redheaded boy.

Voldemort still did not know by what magic the boy had forced his spell to fail against the Veela. The Patronus Charm, no matter how powerfully it was cast, was neither intended to nor capable of blocking the Killing Curse, much less producing the other effects it had. But however it was done, it was something he must learn, and learn how to counter, somehow. Unfortunately, the most likely source of information, Ollivander, had conveniently left the country, for parts unknown. Voldemort was no believer in coincidences - the old man had been warned, and fled before Voldemort could question him. Which, to him, meant two things: first that the wandmaker did indeed know what had happened. Secondly, and equally important, was that his move had been anticipated - again.

Severus had spoken of Dumbledore fearing the werewolf to be another Dark Lord in the making, and if it was his mind behind these stratagems, then perhaps the old fool had a point. These tactics, these anticipations, were not those of a typical Gryffindor, nor one who followed Dumbledore’s banner blindly. In each encounter over the last year, he had never escaped without losses - and more often than not, failed in his primary objective, as well. An unlikely possibility, given that he was still a youth - but he himself had been dangerous at that age. And certainly, that man and his family had been wildly successful against him, and the werewolf was counted among the boy’s friends, as was the Japanese girl who had matched Bellatrix in combat - Aozaki . . .

Voldemort had travelled extensively throughout the world in his youth, and thereafter, seeking hidden and forbidden magic and powers. In part, he had gained a great deal of his current strengths from there, including Nagini. Japan was one of those lands he had visited, seeking the rumoured mysteries of the Orient. The name Aozaki was well-known to him, though he’d been unaware of the family’s survival - his last information had one of their number slaughtering them all in a fit of madness, or some such, over twenty years ago. Still, if Aozaki the girl was, her prowess as a witch was not unexpected, even so young - the Aozaki were to Japan what the founders of Hogwarts were to England, an ancient and respected bloodline. Still, he had heard Bellatrix recite the details of her encounter many times, and something about it continued to bother him as he considered it.

The girl’s eyes glowed as they fought, Bellatrix said. Glowing eyes - glowing silver eyes. I have heard of such a thing before, but where . . .?

The nature of the phenomenon continued to elude him, and that bothered Voldemort greatly, for he was certain that it was important. Regardless, it meant that the Aozaki girl was, like the two boys with whom she was associated, a threat of potentially the highest order. Potentially, the three of them even were more dangerous to his aims than Dumbledore . . . And that, Voldemort admitted, had been his greatest mistake. For all his condemnation of Dumbledore as an old fool, committed slavishly to “ideals” which did not exist, he retained a respect for Dumbledore’s knowledge of and capacity for magic. He assumed that Dumbledore was capable of discerning the prophecy’s true nature, and acted accordingly . . .

The memory of that still rankled. To have been forced to retreat, yet still triumphant, for he held the orb containing the prophecy in hand - only to, upon accessing it, hear a cultured voice announce, “I’m very much afraid that the prophecy you seek has been destroyed - and you’ve been had . . . Do have a pleasant day.”

He had nearly destroyed Crouch Manor in his rage over that - which would have destroyed the Fidelius Charm protecting it, as well, and left he and his followers exposed for the Ministry to find. It was yet another example of his true enemy’s prowess - an enemy which, he was coming to realise, was not Albus Dumbledore. Nor, he suspected, was it Neville Longbottom. No, Longbottom was an above average wizard, at best, nowhere near capable of destroying a sorcerer with the power of Lord Voldemort. But these three? One of them could indeed be the “one” of which the prophecy spoke. The redheaded boy had already proven frighteningly capable of somehow subverting his magic, and if the other two were as dangerous as they seemed - a possibility he had no reason to doubt - it was quite likely that his true nemesis was among them, and always had been.

But which of them? The redheaded boy - the son of that man - seems the most obvious choice, but then, so did the Potter brat . . . The werewolf? Severus called him a vicious, bloodthirsty animal, with some amount of cunning - which, given his usual disdain for anyone not himself, likely means that the boy is quite dangerous. The girl matched Bellatrix - had her fighting defensively, with the other girl’s help . . . And those eyes. I have heard something about those eyes.

Yes, Voldemort concluded, he had made many mistakes, and now he must begin correcting them. Regrettably, he was in no position to take advantage of the chaos that the death of the Minister of Magic produced, not with his present forces, not even with his tacit supporters within the Ministry itself. For that, he needed more numbers, more terrifying minions. The Dementors were breeding as quickly as they could, but even they could not increase their numbers rapidly enough to tilt the balance. Greyback and his few remaining followers could, and would, infect a village or two with help, to keep the tension level high among the wizarding world, but it was more than likely that LAPIS would manage to get to some of the new converts before they could be of any use. And in any case, none of them would be wizards, would be trusted and respected by his Death Eaters as wizards would.

In addition, he needed information, above all else. Now that he knew the identity of his true enemies, he needed their measure. He needed their weaknesses. And for that, as well as the problem of his lack of witches and wizards, there was only one solution - the same solution to both problems, as it turned out.

“Bring me your children,” he commanded his Death Eaters. “Bring me the sons and daughters of Slytherin house. For all the years they have attended Hogwarts, they have observed and interacted with the core of Dumbledore’s new army - and I would know them as they do.”

Not that Voldemort truly believed that the three’s prowess was any doing of Dumbledore’s - from all he knew, it seemed to be in spite of him - but Dumbledore would have a hand in this, of that he had no doubt. He was still a highly dangerous adversary, if no longer truly a significant one. More to the point, however, the sheep of Britain believed Dumbledore to be the vanguard of the Light, the greatest wizard alive. It was another measure of the true enemy’s intelligence, to use him as a decoy while they did all the real work - but the illusion could serve Voldemort equally as well. If Dumbledore were to fall from the pedestal on which he’d been placed, the people would panic. As with Lockhart’s death, there would be hysteria and chaos - and with it, opportunity.

In order to properly plan the downfall of his enemies, it would take a great deal of effort, study, and above all - time. Fortunately, time was the one thing he had an unending surplus of. His enemies were mortal, as he was not. If necessary, Lord Voldemort could wait centuries to attain his rightful place - he simply didn’t wish to. Nor did he intend for such a wait to prove necessary. If he could obtain sufficient intelligence from the students of Hogwarts, and plan correctly (with the expectation of those insufferable children’s influence and interference, this time), he fully expected to have conquered Britain within the year.

He was Lord Voldemort, and the world now knew of his return - and it was right to tremble in fear, awaiting his next move . . .

As the briefing wound down, pro tem Minister Amelia Bones had only one question of any real importance. “So, tell me something - exactly why shouldn’t I send out a squad of Aurors and curse-breakers to Gringotts and the ring’s locations, and take them both out right now?”

“Because of the snake,” Shiki Aozaki answered calmly. “Now that he’s corporeal again, Voldemort” - he resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the Minister’s reflexive flinch - “will feel it when they’re destroyed. Once he realises what’s happening, we have absolutely no reason to doubt that he’ll drop the last one in South America, Africa, Australia - somewhere where one more snake will never be noticed, and never be found. Unless you’re able and willing to use some kind of ritual that’ll wipe out every serpent on the planet simultaneously, we need to take the snake out first. Or failing that, at least simultaneously with the others. Otherwise . . .”

“Otherwise he comes back, even after we’ve killed him,” Bones said wearily. “If we even manage to do that much.” She shook her head. “And since it’s always with him, and we have no idea where he is . . .”

“Yeah,” Shiki agreed. “That’s about the size of it. And it likely explains why he never hid it like the rest - what better protection could there be for it, other than himself?”

She visibly resisted the urge to follow that line of thought with a sarcastic remark, instead choosing to continue her current one. “It’s just irritating, with all the chaos, to know that we have a chance to break his power once and for all - and need to hold off. These latest attacks - he’s focussing on Muggles, where we can’t be seen doing much to stop him - ”

“And looking ineffectual in the process,” Shiki agreed. “Something to drive up recruiting - he might as well just announce, ‘Look how easy it is to get away with it!’ And even those that don’t really consider mundane people worth thinking about will start wondering whether or not you can do a better job protecting them, somewhere in the back of their minds.”

Bones nodded. “Add when you add Dumbledore to the list of problems, and I’ve got a damned full plate right now.”

“Dumbledore?” Shiki said, a trifle sharply. “What’s he doing now?”

“Thinking that he’s getting around me by restarting his little secret society,” Amelia said venomously. “I told him after that stunt with the love potions that he was on his last chance - if I didn’t need him to be the public hero right now, I’d toss him in Azkaban myself - so he’s trying to be clever by subverting my people out from under me. Arthur Weasley’s already bought in - so have at least half a dozen others in nearly as many departments.” She scowled. “It’s wasting resources that I really can’t afford to, having to keep tabs on my own bloody people, but - ”

“But he’s already proven that he can’t be trusted,” Shiki said grimly. “And with his current wave of popularity, ever since he once again ‘beat’ Voldemort . . .” He sighed as the witch flinched again. “He’ll try to use it to build himself back up again, or at least that’s the fear. After all, you’re only the acting Minister at the moment - and while he’s avoided the job for years, he might ‘feel it necessary to take up the position in these troubled times, for the greater good.’”

Bones snorted wearily. “Nice impression, but he wouldn’t put it in those exact words - Grindelwald used them too often. Still, you’ve got the idea.” She sighed. “Damn it, I do not need to get into this kind of pissing contest in the middle of a war! I mean if we weren’t trying to do anything about You-Know-Who, I could almost understand what he’s doing, but this . . .!”

“There’s been a case made that he’s going senile - maybe there’s some truth to it,” Shiki offered.

“Merlin, I hope not - but I’ll be damned if I can see another explanation.” Bones shook her head. “I’ve got him under observation, and he’ll continue to be watched at Hogwarts - fortunately, Auror Tonks’ grades were high enough that she ought to pass muster as a professor for the year. And she’s applied for his little bird club as herself, so Dumbledore’s movements are about as covered as I can get them without assigning active surveillance - and that’s a bit too conspicuous.”

“If I was, I don’t remember it,” the Minister replied drily. “Still, that’s good to know - I always thought she’d do well.”

“She has,” Shiki affirmed. “My Ministry was quite tempted to try and hire her away from you, but we decided not to impugn her dedication to her country. Incidentally, while you’ll hear it from our ambassador tomorrow, I would like to once again convey the gratitude of the people of Nihon for turning over the wanted fugitive Lucius Malfoy to our jurisprudence.”

She deliberately did not mention the recent Azkaban raid that had released the Lestrange brothers from their cells, although it was implied in her tone. Along with them, there a handful of other escapees who, while not outright Death Eaters, weren’t likely to turn down the opportunity to join up, either. They’d do it just for a chance to take a shot at the Ministry which had imprisoned them in the first place.

“Nevertheless,” Shiki said with deceptive calm, “you have my nation’s thanks for your cooperation - and mine, as well.”

He’d wanted Lucius Malfoy for years - and he’d have him, once the interrogators were satisfied that they’d milked him dry of information (which, in the spirit of international cooperation, would be duly turned over to the British Ministry). Taking the man’s head with a sword wouldn’t be quite as satisfying as tearing him apart piece by piece in a duel, but Shiki could live with the means, so long as he got the end he desired.

Bones shook her head and repeated, “Don’t mention it. You and your partner have been damned helpful, this last year or so.” A somewhat softer look crossed the witch’s face, reflected in her tone as she asked, “How is he?”

“Recovering,” Shiki admitted. “My eldest sister specialises in healing injuries and similar things, so he’s fairly lucky, so far as that goes. Then, too, Iris is a Veela, and they’re excellent healers in their own right. Between the two, there’s no reason he ought not to make a full recovery, in time.” He grinned. “Actually, these last few weeks, it’s mostly been wedding preparations that have keeping him busy - his eldest daughter is to be married on Sunday.”

“That’s right - I did receive an invitation,” the Minister admitted. “I’m sorry, it’s just been a hectic time . . .”

“Perfectly understandable,” Shiki said reasonably. “Have you already replied, or shall I pass one on?”

Bones shook her head again. “Regrettably, I think I ought to stay here, for the time being. There’s too much going on right now for me to risk being away - but while I’m sure my office sent an official reply, thank the Einzberns for the invitation for me, anyway, please. And if you could be so kind as to tell me where they’re registered for wedding gifts . . .?”

Shiki smiled. “With pleasure.”

Kiritsugu had looked better, Shirou ultimately decided. Fortunately, he had also looked much, much worse. This was not the sickly, gradually wasting mage of his long-ago first childhood, but merely a wizard made weary by the necessity and strain of both work, and healing. Much better, from Shirou’s perspective, he was also a two-handed wizard again, though the digits of both were suspiciously covered in thin gloves.

“The grafting scars haven’t quite healed up yet,” Kiritsugu explained. “And they aren’t exactly pretty. Ilya-chan wouldn’t like them as part of her wedding pictures, so . . .” He shrugged. “At least they all work.”

“How did she do it?” Shirou asked, curious.

“I don’t understand half of the technical stuff,” was the blunt reply. “Basically, they’re a flexible wood prosthesis, layered over with a harder wood to protect against damage, and charmed to look and feel like the real thing. Also to be proof against fire - most kinds, anyway.” He grinned wryly. “It’s not like I’m planning to go and find a dragon to test it out on.”

“How is it for sensitivity?”

“Not as good as flesh and blood,” Kiritsugu admitted. “I’m never going to be able to play the piano again - ”

“And why, exactly, is that a problem?”” Shirou asked archly. “You didn’t play the piano before.”

“Shush,” Kiritsugu replied. “As I was saying, playing the piano is right out, and I wouldn’t want me as my surgeon . . . But I can still hold an egg, or your mother’s cheek, without breaking either one. I can still pull a trigger, or lace my boots - with a little extra work, anyways. And this does come with a bit of an extra.”

He held his hand out, fingers rigidly straight, and quietly murmured, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

The bottle of Firewhiskey they’d been drinking from for the last half hour floated to his outstretched hand.

“She used dragon heartstring for the nerve replacement,” Kiritsugu explained. “I’m not very good at channelling magic through them yet - like you saw, I have to hold my hand a certain way - but it means I’ve got a sort-of backup wand when I need one.”

“Wish you didn’t have to lose them at all, though,” Shirou muttered.

“Considering what I was up against, Shirou, a few fingers is a lot more than a fair trade - when I could’ve lost so much more than just those.” He shook his head. “Look, son - I know that you know that it’s impossible always protect everyone, no matter how much you want to. And I know that you’re still going to try, especially with those you love. And I appreciate it, honestly . . . But I’m going to let you in on a secret that you need to know if you’re going to make it work with Ilya - something that took me years to learn with respect to Iris.”

Shirou waited. For all that he was very near his father’s age, in his head, and that he knew the man’s flaws very well indeed, this was still Kiritsugu - still a font of authority and wisdom, in his heart. Whatever he had to say would be treated with the importance it deserved.

The man’s dark eyes were gentle, but serious. “With Ilya - with me, with your mother, and from what I can tell, most if not all of your friends . . . We’re not the type to stand aside and be protected. Nor are we the type to simply let something pass because we’re afraid, or could be harmed. If we were, we wouldn’t be the people you love. And while we appreciate that love, if you respect who we are, then you have to let us step up and fight, as well - the same way we let you.”

Shirou sighed. “I know . . .” With all the memories of his various incarnations, he’d lost track of the number of times that Saber, Rin, or both had pounded that particular lesson through his skull - sometimes literally. But still . . .

“It’s not easy to accept,” he muttered.

“No,” Kiritsugu agreed, “it isn’t. If it was, then accepting it wouldn’t be as important as it is. But it’s true, Shirou. In any world, in any life, it’s true. There comes a point where being protective crosses over into simply being stifling - and that’s not good for either of you.”

Shirou knew that, too, from more recent experience. How often had Galen agonised over where to draw the line with Hermione?

“And this is a war, Shirou,” Kiritsugu said firmly. “Not an all-out one - not yet - but we’ve finally come to an open war. We are going to fight, we are going to be hurt . . . And unless we’re a hell of a lot luckier than any group of people deserves, some of us, and maybe all of us, are going to die. You can’t protect us from that - no one can. The best you can do is what you can to look after yourself, help us when it’s possible, and allow us to do the same. It’s all we ask. And if the worst happens . . .”

Kiritsugu sighed. “If your mother and I were to die tomorrow, Shirou, we’ll have died doing what we want to do, standing up and fighting for what we believe in. And you two, I hope, will have safer, happier lives for it. Longer, too, preferably,” he added quickly. “But there are a lot of worse ways to go, and we can be satisfied with that.”

He paused, then added with a smile, “. . . Although, personally? I’d like to walk Ilya down the aisle first.”

“I’d like that too,” Shirou agreed fervently, even as something niggled at the back of his mind. Something about what Kiritsugu had said - no, about the way he’d said it.

“Dad?” Shirou asked carefully. “Is there something you’re not telling me about what’s going on with you - or Kaa-san?”

Kiritsugu froze for a moment, then looked sheepish. “Caught that, did you? Well, I really think that Ilya ought to tell you this, but I suppose I can stand to give you ‘The Talk’ one more time . . .”

Shirou felt his face flame up to match his hair, and Kiritsugu grinned wickedly at his reaction.

“Hey, I’ve got to take every chance I can get to embarrass you - at the rate you’re growing up, there just aren’t that many left!”

I'm not saying I'm planning it, because I'm not. I will say that after the wedding, his plot armour is used up. If it seems reasonable to (or if I just look up and find I've written it that way, which has been known to happen), he'll die - and so will pretty much anyone else. People die in wars - and while I don't plan to send everyone through the meat grinder (this time), it would be unrealistic to expect everyone to pull through without a scratch, too.

Kieran, if the wedding if ruined you shall suffer every fate worse then death imaginable, and those not imaginable.

Words to live by: Fate is a B****, Destiny is a whore, while Karma is just doing her job.

Violence solves all problems. If its not working then you are not using enough.

Even though I am male after taking a 'Which Fate/stay night Character are you?' quiz I am...

Tohsaka Rin You are Rin. Cool and collected, you think logically about most situations. You strive for self-perfection, and rely on others only for your benefit. You may be cold toward most people, but you can be friendly when you try. Indeed, it could be said you enjoy helping others that you care for. Whatever the case, you tend to think logically and don't let emotions cloud your judgement.

Excellent - thank you. That was the reaction I was aiming for. Having finally met the Trinity in the flesh (as well as some of their associates, like Kiritsugu), Voldemort is intelligent enough to understand dangers to his goals when he sees them. Up until this point, they've been relatively anonymous - most of what they've done has been blown off as luck, exaggeration, outright lies, or simply a talent that could one day be impressive. Given the way rumours fly at Hogwarts, it's hard to figure out the truth. But now, at least some of that has been stripped away - and Voldemort isn't content to let them stay at Hogwarts, gaining in skill, resources and power. Nor, like Dumbledore, is he constrained by a self-imposed morality.

. . . I'm very much afraid that this one is going to be dark, people. Get ready for it.

Maybe - but I just like Takara/Bellatrix fights. Is it wrong that she's Takara's nemesis, when the other matchups are Shirou/Draco and Galen/Ron? Seems a bit unfair . . .

I don't really think Galen/Ron fight is going to be interesting, tactics-wise. Though it's always good to see him knocked down a notch.
And the same thing will apply to Shirou/Draco fight, unless either Draco gets to know that Shirou is Tom's son and stops underestimating him (in which case it will be a rather good game of deadly hide-and-seek), or Shirou gets orders saying that under no circumstance is he allowed to inflict any permanent damage. Since Draco is a little too snobbish to be a real threat otherwise.